“I don’t have dreams about you, Red. Only nightmares.”
“Could’ve fooled me, considering how hard you came the other night.” Jules released her hair from her bun and let it cascade over her shoulders. The movement stretched her shirt across her chest, and my eyes involuntarily dipped to where her nipples poked through the thin material in hard, pebbled points.
When I lifted them again, my jeans had tightened, and Jules wore a smug smile. “If we’re going to do this, we need to set some ground rules.”
Bingo. Mission accomplished.
I savored the triumph for a minute before I inclined my head. “Agreed. Ladies first.”
I’d learned my lesson from our wager at The Black Fox. Always set rules.
“This is a strictly physical arrangement,” Jules said. “We don’t have claims on each other’s time outside of sex, so don’t ask me where I am or what I’m doing when we’re not together.”
“Fine.” I had no plans to do either of those things. “We keep this between us. Don’t tell anyone—not your friends, people at the clinic, and especially not Ava.”
“Of course I won’t tell anyone.” Jules wrinkled her nose. “I hardly want people to know I’m involved with you.”
“You could only be so lucky.”
We ran through the rest of our rules in rapid succession.
“Always use protection.”
“No sleeping over.”
“No getting jealous if the other person goes on a date with someone else.”
Fine with me. An exclusive friends-but-not-friends-with-benefits situation was too close to an actual relationship for comfort.
“If you want to end the arrangement, be upfront about it. No ghosting or beating around the bush. That’s fucking immature.”
“No falling in love.”
I scoffed. “Red, you’ll fall in love with me before I ever fall in love with you.” The mere idea was absurd.
Jules was the most difficult woman I’d ever encountered. God help whichever poor bastard ended up falling for her.
“As if.” She sniffed. “You think far too highly of your dick, Chen. It gets the job done, but it’s not a magical rod.”
“Last rule. Never refer to my cock as a rod again.”
Some slang should be banned from the English language.
“Whatever, Joshy McRod.” Jules offered a deceivingly sweet smile. “Do we have a deal?”
“Deal.” I grasped her outstretched hand and squeezed. She squeezed back twice as hard. It reminded me of when we shook on our clinic truce. We were making an awful lot of deals lately, for some reason. “Only fucking, no feelings.”
I didn’t doubt for a second I could hold up my end of the deal. Most people caught feelings in these types of arrangements, which was why they never lasted long.
But if there was one thing I was sure of, it was that I would never, ever fall in love with Jules Ambrose.
20
JULES
The textbook definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
My definition of insanity was entering into a sexual arrangement with Josh Chen.
I blamed my hormones and law school. If I weren’t so busy, I wouldn’t have to resort to sleeping with the enemy. Literally.
We hadn’t had sex since our pact last week, but it would happen eventually. I was already getting antsy thinking about it. My vibrators were fine when they were all I had, but now that regular and, as much as I hated to admit it, great sex was an option, my body was screaming at me to make up for years of orgasms lost during law school.
I tried to ignore the persistent buzz beneath my skin as Alex, Ava, Stella, and I entered Hyacinth, a hot new club on 14th Street.
I would not think about him tonight, not around Ava. That was just wrong.
Plus, I was paranoid she’d developed mutant mind reading powers and could tell whenever I was thinking about her brother.
I snuck a glance at her, but she was too busy talking to Alex to notice my guilty expression.
“This place is insane.” Stella tilted her head up to examine the giant waterfall chandelier hanging above us. Strands of crystals dripped over three tiers and reflected the lights flashing through the club. Music pulsed through the room and reverberated in my bones, adding to the contagious energy climbing up my spine.
I’d missed this, the feeling of being alive and out in the world instead of cooped up in a library. Ava and Stella liked their alone time, but I thrived on a crowd’s energy. It gave me more buzz than any caffeine or adrenaline hit.
“Only the best to celebrate our new home.” I bumped my hip against hers. “Can you believe it? I thought Pam would have a heart attack.”
After weeks of waiting, Stella and I had finally moved into The Mirage. We’d picked up our keys from an irritated Pam that morning and spent the rest of the day unpacking with help from our friends. Now, we were celebrating with a well-deserved night of drinks and dancing at the hottest new club in town.
Stella shook her head. “Only you would sound so happy about that.”
“Can’t help it. She makes it so easy.” I flashed a mischievous smile. “I promise we’ll be the best tenants ever.”
“J, I swear to God, if you get us kicked out of the building…”
“I won’t. Have more faith in me. But if seeing us around raises her blood pressure…” I shrugged. “That’s not our fault.”
Stella sighed and shook her head again.
Ava touched my arm. “Alex and I are going to grab a table. You guys coming?” Only the roped-off VIP area contained tables, but I wasn’t surprised Alex could finagle us access.
I was surprised he’d helped us unpack, though that was one hundred percent Ava’s doing. He’d worn the same grumpy look he was wearing now all day.
“Later. I’m scoping out the floor first.” I appreciated a good VIP area as much as anybody, but I wasn’t sequestering myself on my first night out in months. “You go ahead. I’ll meet up with you guys in a bit." I patted Alex’s shoulder. “Smile. It’s not illegal.”
His stony expression didn’t budge.
Oh, well. I tried.
While Alex, Ava, and Stella made their way to the VIP area, I pushed my way to the bar. I’ll do a lap of the dance floor later, see if anything interesting was happening, then join them.
I was the one who’d suggested we go clubbing tonight, even though we were all tired from unpacking, so I didn’t blame them if they wanted to chill. Honestly, we should’ve stayed in, but it was my last semi-free night before graduation. I had to do something before bar prep took over my life, and our new apartment was as good an excuse for a celebration as any.
I placed my order for a whiskey sour and scanned the club while I waited. Gold outline sketches of hyacinths snaked over the black walls while fresh bouquets of the actual flower dotted the modular tables scattered throughout the room. A green-haired DJ pumped out remixes from his platform overlooking the dance floor, and servers in skimpy black uniforms circulated with trays of shots. It was leagues above what other D.C. nightspots had to offer, and I could see why Hyacinth was so pop—